Years ago, tongas (horse-drawn two-wheeled carriers) were one of the inexpensive modes of conveyance in my hometown. Many schoolchildren of the present generation have neither heard about them nor seen them.
The horses neighed and the bells chimed as they trotted, pulling the tongas to ferry people to the railway station and back. Part of the ambient noise of the morning that woke up everyone in our house, the same sound lulled us to sleep at night.
So tongas in a way set the time and directed the activities of day and night for everyone in the house. I was so much used to the sound that I had difficulty rising in the morning or going to sleep at night for quite some time when I went away for higher education to a bigger town.
Going to school on a tonga every day was one of the most memorable childhood experiences for me. Tonga owner Nana used to come on time in the morning to take me to school. At times, my mother would serve him breakfast. Nana was treated as a family member. His tonga was always there for everyone in our family to move around town when needed.
While going to school in Nana’s tonga, I used to sit next to him watching him pretending to whip the horse. I recall how affectionately he called his horse Bhangu. As a child, at times, I used to be quite amused seeing his long salt-and-pepper beard. My immense urge to feel his beard was quite intriguing for him. He would occasionally let me do it after repeated pestering.
Nana had difficulty calling my first name. It was a tongue twister for him. Once, when he came to take me home from school, much to my embarrassment, he called out my name as Sujatha instead of Sujith in the presence of my batch mates. After this incident, he preferred to call me Beta. I think my mother had suggested this alternative to him after hearing my complaint. Later on, it so appeared that Nana was more comfortable with Beta than any other name.
Three-wheeled cycle and auto rickshaws made tongas eventually disappear from roads. Lack of fodder for the horses, owing to rampant urbanisation, played its part. I feel sad whenever I see children crammed in cars and autorickhaws going to school. We have indeed stolen the joy of tonga rides from these children. Anything that moves faster lets you see less. No wonder, children are turning a blind eye to many happenings.
Nana’s son, who was of my age and ran a travel agency, died in an accident. If I ever had an opportunity to travel in his car, I would say my journey would never have been as memorable as it used to be in his father’s tonga.
sujith_sandur@yahoo.in
